Out of the mouths of babes
by Senmut
Summary: Baltar's hatred of Adama has deep roots...


"Out of the mouths of babes..."

A Battlestar _Galactica_ story.

by Senmut.

"And today, class," the teacher said, all smiles,

"we'll be joined on our field trip by pupils from the

_President Tymon Elementary School_, from Nemea, on Piscera."

Though the teacher was a picture of ebullience, some of her

pupils were less than excited, especially the small dark-

haired boy in the back left corner of the room. He sighed,

and looked out the window, where the bright, sunny day,

flowers erupting in a score of colors across the green lawn,

seemed to go utterly to waste. From there he looked up at

the blue sky, wishing he knew where his father was.

Anything, anywhere, had to better than going on some boring

field...

"Adama!" said the teacher, her voice slicing into his

reverie like a Cylon laser. "ADAMA!"

"Yes, Miss Clotho?" replied the eight-yahren-old boy

sullenly, not bothering to either look up at her, or hide

his annoyance.

"We are leaving, now, Adama," Miss Clotho said, hands

on hips. "Come on."

"I don't want to go to some dumb field full of dirt!"

pouted Adama, getting out of his chair, and making a face.

"It's stupid!"

"Don't make me call Principal Leonidas again. The last

time, he had to call your father, and..."

"My father isn't here!" snapped Adama, gathering up his

books. "He's out in space, fighting Cylons! Not going on

field trips to look at..."

"Well we can't all be Warriors, now can we, young

Adama?" replied Miss Clotho, her sweet professional tone

beginning to turn crisp around the edges. "And if your

father is not available, I am sure your mother is at home!"

Adama threw her a nasty glare, and sidled past her out

into the hall, muttering something about "stupid trip" as he

did so. He kept on scowling as he boarded the bus, for the

centar and a half journey to today's field trip. As he

waited for the trip to begin, he watched the students from

Piscera joined them, hoping against hope that none of them

would sit next to him. As he gloomily predicted, one of them

did just that, a short boy perhaps a yahren or so younger

than Adama with intense dark eyes and black hair. He said

nothing as he sat down, ran his hands through his thick

locks and settled back, then they were off.

Neither boy spoke as they journeyed through the city,

and then slowly made their way out into the countryside.

Adama split his time between looking up at the sky,

wondering where his father might be, and studying his fellow

passengers. Most were typical elementary pupils, dressed in

clothes that proclaimed their Pisceran origins. Bored with

that, he looked distractedly through his field-trip handout,

and after quickly tiring of that riveting topic as well,

gazed over at his seat-mate. The Pisceran boy was a bit

thickly built, and had a nose that would never earn him

accolades. Yet, there was an...an aura about him. Something

almost tangible about him that Adama could sense.

And it disturbed him.

He watched as the boy opened his lunch, and realized he

was hungry himself. He reached under the seat, and retrieved

his own lunch. He noticed that the other never took his eyes

off the other children, eyes that increasingly reminded

Adama of a predatory bird he'd seen in a zoo once. For some

reason he couldn't fathom, he found himself beginning to

dislike the other boy. He was about to bite into his apple

when the other spoke for the first time.

"Trade ya," he said, pointing at Adama's apple. Adama

looked at the apple, and the other's proposed trade. A pear.

He considered it a moment; he preferred pears to apples

anyway, and why not? No one would ever know.

"Sure," he said, as the bus turned, slowed, and finally

came to a stop. So said, the other boy grabbed his apple,

and tossed the pear into Adama's lap. Immediately he jumped

up, and rushed towards the exit, pushing past a number of

the other children. Adama opened his mouth to call him back,

the rude jerk, but the other was out of sight now. Snorting,

Adama picked the pear up...

And saw the rotten spot on the other side, which the

other had carefully kept out of sight. Scowling at the

deception, he stuffed the fruit into his bag, and headed

fuming towards the exit.

The field trip was to an archaeological site in the

Dionysian Hills, dating back, some said, to the days of the

First Millennium. While normally such topics interested the

boy, a combination of his father being away, a fight this

morning with his sister, and getting a bad grade on an exam

from Miss Clotho had put him in a foul mood. On top of that,

being cheated by some boy he didn't even know had made him

even less sociable. As Miss Clotho (aka Miss Centurion)

gathered her students together, Adama scanned the crowd for

signs of the rotten pear vendor. After a centon or so, he

gave up, and rejoined his classmates.

Still stinging from the fraud perpetrated upon him,

Adama tried to swallow his annoyance, and pay attention to

the lecture. In spite of himself, he found himself growing

ever more absorbed in what the archaeologist was saying,

wondering what life must have been like for those ancient

Capricans, who lived at a practically Stone-Age level. One

of the scientists showed them some of the artifacts, many of

them carved figurines, and then they went to look at

something else.

"...are they worth?" Adama heard a voice asking. He

turned, and saw a black head of hair, over by the trench. He

hung back to watch, and again heard.. "How much are they

worth?"

"Oh, it's hard to say," replied one of the

archaeologists, a tall, reedy man with old-fashioned pince-

nez. "Steatite figurines, of this period, have been known to

fetch upwards of fifty to sixty thousand cubits, on the

illegal art market. Of course, trade in such things is

strictly..."

"Come on, Adama!' said Miss Clotho, grabbing Adama by

the arm, and returning him to the fold. As he turned away,

he caught a last glimpse of the other boy, over by the

trench. Inwardly wishing dark wishes for Miss Clotho, Adama

rejoined his fellow pupils, and tried to get back into the

spirit of the outing. But, try as he might, he could neither

shake a desire for this trip to end, or his resentment at

the other boy's deception. Centar after centar went by, and

as the suns passed their zenith, he heard...

"Gone! They're gone!" cried a voice, high and reedy. "I

was certain I left them here! Doctor..."

Adama turned in that direction, to see one of the

scientists, the tall one, looking frantically through his

pile of artifacts. Something was missing it seemed, but he

pushed it to the back of his mind, as they filed back onto

the bus for the trip home. Finally, he thought. Now, when he

got home, boy, would his sister get it! Man, would she...

The Pisceran boy took his seat, this time across the

aisle and two seats ahead, and aside from giving Adama a

mocking smile, ignored him. Adama however did not, and kept

a sharp eye on him the entire trip back to Caprica City. He

watched as the other shifted in his seat, dozed a bit, put

his hands in his pockets, looked around him, then buried his

hands once more. A game of marbles seemed to have been

struck up with some other children, and Adama moved a bit

closer. If the boy's glance had been intense before, now it

was positively predatory, and Adama felt the hair rising on

the back of his neck. He couldn't say why, but something

about the other boy, something about the way he held

himself, the way he looked about...

"Cheater!" cried someone, and then repeated it. Adama

saw one of his own classmates standing up and glowering at

the Pisceran boy, fists doubled. "Cheater!" Miss Clotho,

and her Pisceran counterpart were moving in, and Adama

suddenly saw it.

_Yes!_ he said, almost aloud, as he saw something slip

out of the boy's pocket. Small and smooth, even at this

distance he could tell what it was. _So, that's what happened_

_to the figurines! He stole them!_

Like a Warrior on the scent of Cylons, he got up and

headed towards the other boy's seat. As the other looked up

at the teachers, Adama grabbed his arm, and several marbles

went spilling onto the floor. The Pisceran looked up at

Adama, first in shock, then in anger. "I..."

"He stole something!" cried Adama, and reached into one

of the other's pockets. The other yelped in shock as Adama

produced a small figurine, dirt still clinging to it's

surface. "See Miss Clotho! He stole this from those people!"

"WELL!" said the other teacher, and soon two more small

figurines were produced. The young thief scowled angrily,

looking from the teachers to Adama with eyes full of hatred.

His lip snarled in contempt, but he was spun around by the

Pisceran teacher. "Well you'll certainly have alot to answer

for when we get back, boy! What do you have to say for

yourself?"

"Well...I didn't..I mean..." he stammered, eyes wide

with both fear and fury.

"We'll sort this all out when we get back. Sit down.

Now!"

The thief and would-be marble-sharp did as he was told,

and then slowly looked to Adama, mouth tight, his eyes aglow

with pure hatred. The two boys stared at each other for

several centons, then the other spoke, almost a whisper:

"I'll get you for this, you do-gooder... fink! I'll make you

pay!"

"Baltar, be quiet!" ordered the teacher, and neither

boy spoke for the rest of the trip.


End file.
